Footsteps
by ASLaddict
Summary: To let out their frustration, some people do yoga, throw things, or go kickboxing. Mitchie runs. She runs from her past, her less-than-ideal family life, and the expectations that burden her daily, hoping to leave some of it behind. What will happen when some of her past, present, AND future catches up with her? Probably OOC, definitely Smitchie. Oneshot.


My heart is beating a million miles a minute; my eyes are glued in front of me, single minded to my goal. My only goal, in this moment. I run as fast as I am physically able, and I can practically _feel_ the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Breathing is a struggle, but that's okay. I sort of love it right now.

Though I can't figuratively run away from my past (or present, for that matter), literal running is my escape. I like the feeling that I have control over one thing, even if it's just a tiny fraction of the life that I am living.

When I start out, I never really know where I am going to end up. I like that too, just going wherever's convenient. Someone is blocking the sidewalk to the left? That's just as well; I curve to the right. Maybe…well, I guess it's like I am letting all of these random passerbys control my path (the figurative one, to my future…and all of that hullabaloo.), and I have no care in the world because of it. They are telling me where to go, and it seems like when I'm running, that's the only time that I am completely content to just _abide._ #YOLO, or whatever.

As my footsteps pound forward, I leave reality behind-for a little while. All of those expectations (that I never seem to meet), that goddamn pressure (pressing in on me, every second), and all of this anxiety (that it seems I am _never_ able to shake). How lovely, right?

So instead of slamming my door and throwing a hissy fit, as many other 17 year old daughters may choose to do, I run. I run, hard and fast, until maybe some of the things I'm running from will _stay_ behind me. Not likely, though it's worth a shot.

Tonight is just like any other. I, the lonely Mitchie Torres, laced up my running shoes feeling misunderstood. Wait…misunderstood may be the wrong word. "Misunderstood" implies that you are understood in any way, which I have a hard time believing that I am. If you can't tell, I was in a very "SELF PITY" sort of mood. Ah, well. That usually dissolves pretty quickly, too.

So, a short forty minutes later, here I am. The "SELF PITY" spell has dissipated, which is pretty normal. Now I just kind of _am._ No outside thoughts to be concerned with.

I am probably, oh, five miles from my house right now. Maybe six. I found this neat little dock, though; I'm pretty sure I am at BlackFish Lake, which isn't too terribly far from my house.

Its past sunset, but not completely dark yet. Kind of that "in between" time of day. I walk for a few minutes (my version of a cool down) and sit on the old wood. My legs are too short to reach the water, so I swing them back and forth. It's one of those cool summer nights, the perfect weather to just sit.

After staring at the moons reflection in the water (a very picturesque scene, I'm telling you) I flop onto the dock, lying on my back. It's really nice. For a moment, I close my eyes and just kind of let the sound of the water and the cool night air wash over me.

This is one of the benefits of letting other people (though even they don't know it) guide me each night. Sometimes I end up in really neat places that I would have never been able to find.

I hear footsteps approaching me. _Well there goes that, _I think to myself as I hurry to sit up and get out of here. Oh, well.

"Mitchie, wait." A familiar voice calls out. Shane Grey. This could either be okay, or really bad. Looks like it's my _lucky day_ to find out!

With all of the shit that's been going on at home for me lately (If you have forgotten, see "SELF PITY" section above), I've taken to lashing out at the people I really care about. My friends, for starters. _My boyfriend_, I think to myself as I watch Shane sit next to me.

It's not like I _wanted_ to. It couldn't be that because, quite honestly, I have no freaking clue what I want.

When the _some_ of the people who you are supposed to trust, rely on, and care for more than anyone else in the world (re: family) hurt you, I think it must be easier to close yourself off from _all_ of the people who love you. Why else would have I reacted in the way that I did?

Augh. I am a hopeless case. Yeah, "hopeless" pretty well defines me.

"Look," he started. Then paused. "I know that you've been having an awful time at home. I am so sorry for that. I just…" he trails off.

To be honest, I wasn't really listening to him. Shane being here kind of just steeled my resolve: I don't want him to be hurt by me again. I need to break things off completely, it's better for both of us this way.

"Shane," I start, but the words die in my mouth as he grabs my hand, lying between us in the dark.

"No. Let me finish." He takes a breath. "Mitch, I miss you. I miss the way we used to be together, before all of this family business came into play. I have been missing the bright, beautiful, spunky, loving girl that you are for a long time. I know that you're still that girl, under the hate that's at the surface. I should know, right? I was the same way, remember?"

I can tell he is looking at me, because I saw his head move in the side of my vision. I, like the socially awkward person that I am, continue to stare at my running shoes above the moonlit water. I'm definitely listening this time.

"I was so rude to everyone. You remember. I was a complete asshole, but _you_ changed me. I love you so much for it, you know. You have to know that." He hesitated, just for a moment.

"Look at me, Mitch." Gently, Shane turns my face towards his with the hand that isn't occupied by holding mine. I make the mistake of opening my eyes to look into his, which is just as dangerous as always. The damn boy has eyes like super glue-they never freaking let you go, no matter how careful you are. Did I really just compare him to _superglue?_ Wow, I really have lost it.

"That's why I can see straight through you this time, Mitchie. I've been there. Don't make the same mistakes that I did." For the first time since I've seen him today, Shane is the one to look down. "I just…I miss you so much. And I will be waiting for you when you are ready to come back."

With that, Shane pulls me in to a hug. Not just your average hug though, the very best kind of hug that a person to give (Cliché as hell, I know. Shut up and just go with it). Sitting there on the dock with him, I realize that it's the exact thing that I have needed all this time. "Come back to me," he whispers.

After too much reserve than one should show with their own boyfriend, I wrap my arms around his waist. Shane sort of radiates relief right then, and relaxes even as he holds me tighter.

I start to cry, sitting there in his arms. I press my face into his shoulder, without doubt ruining his nice clean tshirt. I keep my face there anyways a) because I am the worlds ugliest crier, and girls do the whole face-pressed-against-his-shirt thing with good reason and b) because Shane smells really good, just as I remember him. God, I missed him.

"I don't deserve you." I say softly.

I wasn't even sure that he heard me, until Shane starts to pull away. _God!_ I think._ This is where self-pity gets you, Mitchie. Now he believes you._

All of this is running through my mind as Shane's hands slip from my waist (where he was hugging me, and all) to hold my face. He lures me in with those dangerous eyes, and the next thing I know he had bent down to capture my lips with his.

Now, one would think that after a whole month and a half of not-kissing-your-boyfriend, that the first kiss after such a long time of not-kissing-your-boyfriend would be full of reckless teenage hormones. Shane, however, set the tone for our kiss by first holding me so gently (like I'm a porcelain doll, or something) and then by proceeding to lightly touch his lips to mine.

By that point, as any respectable girl would be, I was gone.

Moments later, Shane pulled away (though his eyes still maintained that superglue hold on mine.) "Mitchie," He began, without hesitation. "You are the best thing that has come into my life. These past few months…well, I have missed you more than you could probably know. I've missed your laugh. I've missed your eyes. God, they're so beautiful." He stops for a second to laugh. "I've missed your gorgeous smile. I would do anything to get you to smile like that again." I give kind of this awkward wry-type smile in response. Good going, Mitchie.

"Well that's a start!" Shane exclaims, goofy as ever. I can't help but smile at him, a real one this time.

"Can I help you find your way back?" Shane looks at me seriously, once again. He isn't talking about the way to 1293 Walnut Street, I'm pretty sure.

I look down at the lake water once again, and my running shoes hovering above it. I nod.

Shane stands and offers his hand to help me up, before he pulls me into another lovely (the nonsarcastic kind!) hug.

When we part, I take a deep breath. Shane smiles at me, grabs my hand, and our footsteps echo over the water as we walk to the end of the dock.

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Epilogue: In an unexpected turn of events, I actually do need Shane's help getting back to 1293 Walnut Street. A common side effect of letting innocent sidewalk-goers dictate where you are going…

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**A/N: Why hello, those of you who decided to read the whole thing! Thanks bunches for that! Haha a few hours ago, I was just in a really shitty mood, so I decided to vent by writing. Sorry that this story is pretty dark and depressing, for most of it! I don't usually write such sad stories. Oh well. If it interests anyone, I feel much better now. GO WRITING! Please let me know what you think of the story! :)**


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